The World Is Our For The Taking
by Allagenda-domsitzers-chan
Summary: In this newest universe of mine, we'll be using headcanons deluxe. Chapter 4- Left side driving isn't hard, he just acts like it is.*Reviews, suggestions, and headcanons are welcome! :)
1. Chapter 1

Melt- Antartica

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A/N: Hello there! Wonderful day, isn't it? *haha no* Anyways, sotry #100 somthing big and I can't even tell anymore.

We'll be starting off with Antartica, for no reason. Hope you guys like. Please review, I get lonely T-T

Headcanon for this chapter is: "Because the eyes of Antartica represent the Antartic ice, each year he loses a little more eyesight due to the melting of aforementioned ice."

Anyways, I'm going to be doing some really random headcanons here. Sometimes I'll expand it into something bigger, most times not. Give me headcanons, I'd love that. :) If I don't already have it.

And in my world, I like to change things- like coldstone4815 with her audaciously delicious _Miles and Inches_. She inspires everything for me now. Thank you, coldy, for giving me my inspiration back. I owe you... over 70 now (Saved me many a grade, you have).

Suggest anything and everything, I'll probably be able to take it. :D

Enjoy.

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"Hey, watch where you're going!"

Apologizing haistily while backing up, Antartica shifted under his coat while rubbing his left eye. Even with glasses he still had mediocre sight at best. Sighing, trying not to cry for the hundredth time that day, he reached out with his gloved hand until he touched a building. Scooting over so he was practically pressed against it, he kept his left hand up a little in front of him in case he ran into anyone again.

Each year, it'd been getting worse.

The first year things got a little foggy. Nothing big, and not a real problem- it was like dust getting in his eye.

The next few years it went from foggy to blurry.

From blurry to smudges.

From smudges to one big smudge.

Diverting his eyes down to the blurry grey of the sidewalk, shoulders hunched, Antartica remembered sitting at the table across from the blurry doctor and hearing, clearer than anything he saw, "You are slowly going blind, and so far we can find no cure- not knowing its origin."

He remembered the cold leaving his body, replaced with a fear-cold that settled in his chest and refused to leave. The fact that no matter what they tried, he was losing his sight. He was going blind.

He remembered someone asking him if he was okay, and responding with a bright yes.

He remembered when he could still see things clearly, when he could tell one shape from another. When he didn't have to wear contacts just to make sure he could tell colors apart, for the majority of the time. He sniffed from inside his jacket, wishing for things to go back to when it was still good. When he didn't stay in his house most of the time, spending hours trying to figure out what was food and what wasn't. He'd started setting out bowls on the counter, and easy-open cans of soup for every meal. And even opening the cans took over ten minutes at a time, and he now had a computer program that told him what time it was (since he couldn't read it anymore).

He shrunk a little further into his jacket, knowing the answer to his deteoriating eyesight. As the ice melted on his continent, his eyesight melted away too. If it were completely melted...

He'd be left in the dark forever.

Because of poor eyesight, he was already getting better on using his other senses to tell when someone was around him- sound, feel- occasionally a hollow flooring can give someone's footsteps away-, even taste and smell.

In public places, however, this didn't help much.

Suddenly Antartica jumped, as his hand rammed into what seemed to be the stomach of someone much taller than him.

"Damn!...Antartica? What are you doing?" Wincing as he recognized the voice, Antartica tried to shift past the taller person that stuck an arm out to block his path, and refused to meet his eyes.

"Uh, just out. Why?" There was no reply for a moment, then the voice of Australia said, "You're just 'out', over ten blocks from your house. For no reason."

"Uh, yeah, Sure. I mean, I didn't have anything to do today, so I just wanted to take a walk, and stuff, 'cause, you know-"

"Stop." Hands fell onto both his shoulders, and when he didn't look up, Australia huffed. After a moment, the smaller felt hands wrap around his sides.

"Wha- hey! Put- me- _Australia!_ " He yelled, because the taller was now carrying him around the waist, and was now walking. Kicking and whining, Antartica dragged him through street after street, and even with his poor eyes Antartica could tell- everyone's eyes were on him.

Face red, he shouted, "Just put me _down!_ Just- would you- this isn't funny-"

His captor suddenly cut him off. "No, it's not."

In moments Antartica fell to the ground, a carpeted place that smelled like home. Probably because it was.

The fear-cold came, and he winced as he realized Australia could see everything he'd been hiding. The books on eyesight, blindness, sheets with exceedingly large print just so that Antartica could read them, the soup cans and bowls set on the counter, numerous food stains and a few droplets of blood from the time Antartica had accidentally cut his thumb with a can lid.

When Australia finally moved to whip around to Antartica, the smaller didn't need perfect eyesight to know that the taller was glaring at him. Nervously laughing, he diverted his eyes to his boots. He hadn't taken off his clothes in weeks, simply because he was worried that if he did remove them, he wouldn't be able to put them back on.

Australia kneeled down to Antartica's sitting position on the floor and pulled up the smaller's chin. "Just how long have you been hiding this from us all?"

Grimacing, he waited a moment before replying... "...seven years."

Australia swore lowly, standing. He walked over to the desk, looking at the papers and books that were spread there, at the abundance of pencils- all dull, no sharp- pens, and highlighters. "So you're going blind and you haven't told anyone for _seven years_?"

"Well, I went to the doctor's, but they don't know a cure..."

Australia grumbled. "And you do?"

Hunching over a little more, feeling the blue of tears fill his eyes, he whispered, "When the ice melts, my sight will be completely gone. I'll be permanently blind." The repetition of this fact usually just made him a little more down- but now, saying it to one of the few true friends he had left, it shoved the tears out in a rush, taking his heart and stabbing the fear-cold knife through it. Curling into a ball, he rocked back and forth, biting his lip.

"The ice on your continent?" Australia inquired, not really listening. He was looking at one of the notes on the desk still.

"...I don't want to go blind," he murmured, and the tears bubbled even more. He began silently sobbing, thinking of the fact that soon, he might not even be able to see a smudge- next year it could be non-ending darkness. Whimpering, Antartica stuffed his head between his knees, into his thick coat.

Australia looked over, realizing just then how hard it was hitting the smaller. Going over next to him, the taller put an arm around his friend and patted his back a little. "Hey, now. You're not blind yet."

"But I could be soon," the smaller pointed out. The taller sighed, and simply pulled the crying one closer. He blinked at the next words- "And you're mad at me for not telling you."

Frowning, Australia said, "No, I'm just upset you stuck yourself in this place for months and never let us know what was wrong, and just kept us worried. You should tell me if anything goes wrong like this, okay? Ever again. I don't care how crazy it is, tell us, your friends. That's what we're here for, right?" Antartica sniffed, smiling a little.

"Okay."

Australia smiled too. "We've still got today. How about me and you go out and get something better than soup? Get you back some calories, because even for a twig you're light."

"Hey!" Australia laughed as Antartica punched him on the shoulder.

"At least I'm not a giraffe who rarely can go through a doorway standing upright," the smaller pushed. He grinned.

Australia smirked. "Oh, is that so? Well, it means I also have much longer arms... to tickle the hell out of you!" Both were soon laughing, laying on the carpet that held more dust bunnies than a fifty year old house.

Of course, laughing turned to sneezing rather fast.

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A/N: Whew! Love this chapter. At first it was just going to be Antartica-self-reflection, but I got an idea and ended up with this. 3 (Could be seen as a ship, but I think of it as a brotherly thing. :3)

I write for prompts! :D


	2. Chapter 2

Infinite Lives- Group

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A/N: Hey there. Question: Would you guys be upset if I decided to do a really dark chappie, a tad of suicide and a smattering of feels? 'Cause if so, I've got a lot. And I really want to do them, but if you guys don't want them I'll do my best to skip.

Oops, I just did. Hate me.

And before anyone says much, yes I know Antartica is a girl. I have no regard for that and actually didn't know until _after_ the chapter was posted. And I didn't care to change it, I mean, I didn't want a pairing, so I kept it as is. Otherwise it seemed like... it was a little _too_ caring and lovey-dovey. Meh.

OH! Yes! Note! For my updating, there's going to be a restriction- only during school days, because that's the only time I have internet access. And (usually) on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. :) (There will be excaptions, but it's always going to have a minimum of two chapters a week. Don't worry! :3

And thank you to my current 21 readers! From the USA, Philippines, Hong Kong, France, Sweden, Hungary and (OhmygodIloveyou) A Canadian. :D Thank wuu! 3

A groupie headcanon, features multiple countries. And prepare to get a heart attack.

Headcanon: "Every nation has tried to kill themselves at least once. Some nations, more often than others. Even if they know it won't work."

:)

Enjoy.

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Laughter bubbled within his chest.

The hard, cold circle of the gun pressed against his head, resting perfectly on his temple.

Just one move of his finger and it'd be over, right?

That's what happened to everyone else who tried it.

So, with a single move, a small stroke, his finger pulled back the trigger.

Pain.

Red.

...

...

..He wasn't dead.

The laughter flew up his throat, choking him, coming out in high-pitched tones of hysteria. Blood dripped down his left sleeve, into his hair and down his neck and into his scarf. His hand shook substantially.

Not dead yet?

Shoot again, of course.

Red.

Bright.

Stun.

...

...Still not dead? Keep shooting.

White.

Light.

Star.

Night.

 _Please._

Click.

...

...

...

...

...

...

...

...

...

...

The insane alughter tore at his chest, ripping through his throat as he fell to his knees. The gun fell to his side, empty, and slipped from his gloved hands.

He leaned fowards, and the laughter didn't stop. It became more of a scream, and his bloody, holed head slipped into his hands. He shook violently, and fell onto his side.

The only sound for miles was the deranged cackling coming from the bloody man on the hilltop.

Tears.

That's all he could think.

It was all he could see, anyways.

Whimpering to himself, he picked up the bright blue piece of glass that was almost bigger than his forearm. It was sharp and could do its job well.

Sniffing, he shook slightly as he lifted the glass shard, and placed it over his heart. The organ that kept hurting the most, tightening, feeling constantly like it was cold, like a knife was being driven through it.

Maybe this could get rid of the feeling.

Suicide, in most cases, worked. Occasionally it didn't, but that made up less than half of the population. Good odds, right?

For a moment, he thought- he could see _him_ again. He smiled, his grip steadying.

 _I just have to die, and then I'll see you again._

The shard sliced through like a sword through warm butter.

The smile vanished from his face. He silently screamed as the pain became too much, as his heart twisted and blood began steadily dripping from the gaping hole in his chest. His hands shook, and his vision pounded. The tears returned, and he felt his hands grope for the handle of the shard again.

He ripped it out with another silent scream and a flash of white.

Shuddering, he curled into a ball on his side, whimpering as the pain slowly left as his body rolled into shock. The blood began flowing onto the floor, leaving pools of maroon on the spots where he was.

Eventually, slowly, his fingers went to the shining pools. They traced patterns, making more rivers for the blood to go down. And down it did go, through the new paths he'd traced for it.

After a while he realized he should be dead.

Sitting up with a gasp and a bright flash of white again, he felt for the wound in his chest.

Still there.

Eyes wide, he looked over at the clock.

 _7:48_ , it read.

It'd been around 5:30 before he'd stabbed himself.

Whimpering more, crying as the hopelessness set in, he took the shard and put it back over the hole, tilting it this time so it'd cut more.

He actually screamed as he made the next void in his chest.

She took a deep breath.

How she missed happiness.

She could fake it well enough, but of course her brother could always tell if she was hurt. No matter what.

Still, though. He wasn't talking to her recently. What had she done wrong? It felt dark inside her chest, like she was worthless. Maybe that's why he was ignoring her. You never pay attention to the useless things unless they took up space you needed.

And she could take herself, the worthless factor, out of her brother's problems and he'd be happy again. Maybe even give her a smile.

She smiled just at the thought. If she wanted to do that, then...

With a simple swing of her legs and a push from her arms, she was flying.

Off the roof, free at last.

Her skirt fluttered in the wind, and her ribbon did as well.

She smiled as she imagined the smile her brother would send to her in death.

But when her feet hit the ground, she knew something was wrong.

Her legs crumpled, and she felt her forehead hit the ground and then nothing.

When she opened her eyes again, it was to pain. Pain and more pain. She felt tears, and let them come. She wondered.

Was she dead?

But when she finally had the strength to lift her head, it was to blood. Her blood, splattered across the sidewalk, painting it a dark red.

She shuddered at the sight, and looked up at the house. Crying, she felt even more worthless than before. No wonder her brother didn't want her, she couldn't even take herself out.

"B-brother!"

Sobbing, trying to lift herself up, she realized she couldn't move her legs, looked back, and felt more tears as her breath clogged in her throat.

She unplugged it and yelled, "Big Br-rother! Brother!"

No wonder he didn't want her, she thought distantly.

You won't miss what you don't notice.

That goes for everything. Items, food, books, weapons...

People, even.

And so that was how Canada was finally speeding down the highway in his dusty, technically new car.

He had wiped any emotion clean off his face, not wanting anyone to see him while he was thinking like this. He held his hands steady, his eyes even more so.

And on the empty stretch of road, noone would know until morning that he was dead.

If they saw, of course.

So with a well practiced jerk, something he'd done many times in his dreams, he torrented off road and into a tree instantly.

Blinding white noise.

After what seemed like infinity, he reopened his bloody, nearly swollen shut eyes.

And sighed.

Again, he was still alive, even after the impact thatwould have killed a normal human, one that normally would have killed him. Shutting his eyes, he leaned back as far as the seat would go and moved his shattered left leg as far as he could towards the gaping hole that was supposed to have a crumpled door in it.

He winced and tried to move his right leg, but was left with a series of white stars that danced arcoss his vision, tempting his body into passing out. Canada growled and forced himself to stay awake. Now that he was awake and the impulse to die had faded, he knew- he didn't want Cuba to come searching for him like he'd done last time. Canada had passed out and when he woke up, it was to a faceful of Cuban.

So, this time, he waited for a split second before grabbing the exterior of the car wirh his left arm, wincing as his head tried to fly into the clouds. He forced himself to stay lucid.

He was going to need another car. Again.

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A/N: (Includes: Russia [gun], Italy[glass shard], Liechtenstien [heights], Canada[car crash].)

Oh yes I did.

Yes

I

Did.

Note how Canada's the only one who was actually labelled as himself? As in, I used his name while writing. :)

...And ****= person change.

I write for prompts :)


	3. Chapter 3

Stray- Lithuania

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A/N: Hey, it's me, back again with a nice fluffy chapter. :)

AAAHHHH MY FIRST REVIEWER FOR THS STORY AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

The honors go to **: Amelie (Guest)**

Wise, that because if she had an account I would literally have spammed her to hell and back with pure joy :D Even better, it was a prompt! And I'm SOOO sorry it isn't done but I swear I'm trying and that is a lovely prompt and where is your adress I want to pay you or something

And I swear when it's done I will be posting it _pronto_. You are my favorite person right now. Cookies :DDD (::) (::) (::) (::) (::)

Seriously. One of the best things all day. :DDD Like I am hyper and I just leaped around for a full five minutes I thi nk and my typing speed was amped so mch there I literally wrote all that stuffles above in a minute I mean _can you even..?_

Yeah I need sleep. But I also need review for my next three exams tomorrow, which determine if I have to retake the grade or if I make it to next Tri alive.

Pretty sure I failed my Yearbook one because I am only good at writing fiction. :/

As for this chapter- yes it's Lithuania, and it's good. I hope you guys like. :3

Headcanon: "Lithuania takes in loads of stray animals."

Enjoy.

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It was still dark out, but just like always the snow was still pure white even in the darkness.

The only one on the street was a simple boy walking down the sidewalk, humming to himself, small piece of paper in his hand, looking at the different addresses, smiling a little.

There was no danger, what with it being his country and all. Not today. And all anyone would see was the little boy.

He skipped a little, thinking. Today he was told by Poland that he could go outside and enjoy himself a little. So he did so, but he kept the paper on which he'd written Poland's address, because there was a street full of houses that all looked like Poland's- and each one had long, thin hidden drives you had to walk through to reach the place you wanted to go. He'd learned early on to simply take a piece of paper along whenever he went out to try and avoid getting lost.

Suddenly, he blinked. To his left, something was hiding in the bushes, whimpering. Curious, he began walking over to it, taking tippy toes to try and avoid making much noise.

Slowly, he peered over the bush, and gasped softly. For there in the snow was a nest of baby kittens and thier momma, but the others weren't moving. Just one of the kittens, who must have woken up earlier than the rest,

At least, that's what he hoped.

Biting his lip, he slowly put a hand under the momma cat, and tried to lift her.

She remained limp, and too cold to be alive anymore.

Whimpering a little, he looked to the other kittens, slowly lifting them up too, and his hands shook with each dead kitten.

But then he came across the mewling one.

It was colored a light brown, and even under the frost Lithuania could see its fur was long and silky, rolling in waves that barely seemed to curl. It was shivering, complaining and begging him to be brought out of the cold, looking at him with barely open eyes that were a piercing green that seemed so familiar that Lithuania shuddered.

It clearly said without words, 'My momma and family's dead and now I'm alone and cold. Take me home.'

Smiling suddenly, the boy picked up the silky, frosted kitten, holding him close.

"Hey there," he whispered happily. "I'm Lithuania and I'll take care of you now, okay?"

The kitten curled into the warmth of his coat, barely moving from that other than to rub his brown chin against Lithuania's thumb.

The boy smiled more and rubbed the kitten's face, then began looking for Poland's.

This kitten needed a warm bath.

Over the course of many months, Lithuania aquired three more cats, five dogs, a snake, two parrots, a hamster and four rabbits.

So he decided that he could start an animal shelter.

Even after Russia took him, Lithuanis snuck out to his animals whenever he could, saying he was just going for a walk and would be back soon. True enough, and almost always he'd find something else.

And years passed, and one by one animals would either be sold or die quietly, and new ones would come and take their places. It saddened him sometimes, but he learned to not get over them but remember them, and to himself he had an entire back room of packets, each in its own folder, labelled with the animals' names, one for every thing that had come to stay in the shelter, even if it was only for a week, and when the animal was leaving Lithuania wrote as much as he could in a notebook, and when he did so he took the papers and slid them into the envelope before folding it and putting it back.

When the animal left, he sealed it and put the envelope into a different room, and kept it there with many others. He didn't know exactly why he did it- but for some reason he never felt too sad about the leavers. Lithuania just did it and wondered if there was any other reason he'd need it.

It was a really normal day when Poland walked in, really.

But not for Lithuania, who hadn't seen Poland in months prior to that day.

Choking on the small sip of coffee he'd been drinking, Lithuania stood clumsily, nearly falling over, but managing to stay upright.

He spluttered, "P-poland? Wha.. what are you doing here?" He swallowed thickly as Poland looked around Lithuania's 'home'.

One of the cats began wrapping itself around Poland's leg, purring deeply as it looked up at the blonde. Poland looked down and then raound, finally ending at Lithuania, eyebrow raised.

Lithuania winced a little.

"So why- no, better. Since when has your house been a pet shop?"

"Um, I'm not selling them all. And I just... found them."

Poland sighed, picking up the cat by his legs, just so he could walk over to Lithuania. The brunette had though it impossible for the cat to get any louder, but when Poland took it into his arms, the tomcat had gone from 'loud' to 'deafening'.

"Well, does Russia know?"

"Um, no?"

Poland glared. "Okay. So, here's the deal. I'll take this cat-" The cat in his arms meowed- "And Russia will never know. Just- find a pony, alright?" Still _looking_ mad, but not actually mad, Poland reopened the door and walked out, with Lithuania smiling. He picked up the first cat he'd found, the one with silky light brown ears. Even after so long he was still going, and it seemed like he had no intention of slowing down anytime soon. The cat purred along, looking at the window through which both of them could see Poland introducing the cat to Pony.

And so Lithuania walked to the back room and sealed one of the few blank envelopes, and in place of the owner he wrote smoothly,

 _Poland_

before setting it in the back room with the others that left with a smile.

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A/N: Aww! So we introduce Lithuania and Poland's cat counterparts, both of whom are perfectly happy with each other :) And I'm sorry if that isn't what Lithuania-cat looks like, but I couldn't find a picture so I guessed. Yeah I'm sorry. :/

As for where the envelope thingh came from.. it was really random, but it seemed like a nice touch and helped me end the story a little better.

So! On a more important note, I've finally decided what I'm going to do with this story. So I'm going to use a helluva lot of headcanons, then I'll tell you which ones I plan to use in a certain 'arch' of the story, and then from there I'll take it off of pure headcanons and start improvising *sounds fun*

Leave a suggestion, song reccommendation, or headcanon I can use, I'd love that :)


	4. Chapter 4

Left Side- America

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A/N: Hello there. Me again. :3

America chapter, and it's a good one (I hope).

Headcanon: "Alfred is perfectly capable of driving on the left like they do in England. He just likes to pretend he can't to annoy Arthur."

:3 Yayyy

Enjoy.

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"I wanna get something to eat."

"Fridge."

"There's nothing _edible_ in there though~," the younger groaned.

"Pantry."

"Flour and fricking salt. Nothing to eat."

"...go to the store, then."

"I don't have any money right now, and I really want something I can _eat,_ " America moaned, going over so he was slung over the sitting England, who was reading.

"Get off me." Unsuccessfully, the Brit tried to push America off him.

"Only if you take me to get something to eat."

"...Bloody hell. My wallet's on the counter."

"No, _you_ come too. I don't have my phone either."

"...no."

"Yes! ' _Otherwise I'll get lost in the big, old city and you'll hear about it on the Metro that you abandoned me and left me to fend for myself in the big, scary city-'"_ He'd been talking in a high-pitched, singsong voice, reminding the Brit of the last time he'd done such a thing.

Suddenly the elder stood up, growling ferally.

"... _Fine_ , damn you." Picking up his wallet, England took his keys and went to the door, looking back darkly at the American.

"You drive," muttered England. America grinned.

"But I can't drive the way you guys do." Total lie, but the look that passed over England's face was getting better and better.

"Sure you can," the elder growled, beginning to drag America to the door. "I'll teach you."

America grinned more, but hid it when England opened the door.

"This is gonna be great," he breathed so England wouldn't hear the tone in his voice.

"Pull out normally, please. Don't wreck my car."

"Hey, I'm not Italy. You can trust my driving," America said calmly, masking the smirk in his voice with a simple bored facade.

"No, I can't," the Brit said darkly. "The last time I did, you nearly got us both killed."

"Yeah, and it was also seventy years ago. Chill, man, I've had plenty of practice since then."

"I don't think that's enough. Considering the amount of car crashes that _happened due to speeding_."

"Well, they've been dropping recently, okay? Lay off, I can drive. Besides," he replied smoothly, "Most people pick up good driving habits in weeks. If I can't do that in _seventy years_ , then I guess I'm getting to be as old as you are. Maybe I'll discover a new country, just like you, Grandpa," he grinned to the left passenger seated Brit, who growled.

"Bite me."

Still grinning, America pulled back the gearstick and the handbrake. He decided to act like he wasn't at all used to the right-side-wheel layout (which he was, of course), and looked right- out the window- before looking left. He was able to pull out smoothly, many safety tricks setting in and moving his hands and feet for him.

When he realized that the one beside him was calming down a little, he 'accidentally' pressed the pedal a little fast, making the car jerk.

Almost instantly the passenger was paling, gripping his armrests and pressed against the back of the seat so hard, he was almost _inside_ it. He muttered lowly, "I'll be giving you tips in case I think you're getting too... rowdy."

America's grin didn't fade or fall this time.

"No, no, that's the left turn lane, go right, go right-go right- go _right!_ " Now slightly annoyed himself at his elder's screaming, America tapped the steering wheel lightly, then shoved the outstreched arm away from his face.

"Shut up, man! I can see the sign now! Just let me drive!" Biting back many other 'tips' he wanted to say, the Brit fell back into his chair, shifting uncomfortably.

It had been fun at first, but now it was just annoying.

Sighing, the younger slowed down to a nice twenty, finally letting most of his habits take over. Thankfully there was noone behind him for a while.

They were just reaching the light when something caught the corner of America's vision.

Suddenly, his eyes widened.

Without a second to waste, he pulled the car into reverse and shoved the pedal down.

For a moment, the Brit looked pissed- but a second later a bright red car came darting inches away from the nose of the car. America gripped the wheel and, noticing an opening in traffic, reversed off road and into a small ditch, stopping when the back wheels stuck.

For once, noone yelled at the irresponsible driving, because the red car had just struck a building and it looked bloody.

There were screams. Sirens turned on in the distance, and people were taking out their phones and taking careful pictures of the wreckage.

Shaking violently, America let go of the wheel.

For a moment, there was silence.

Then both sat right up as the driver kicked the door off his shattered car, sporting a number of cuts on his face, arms, torso and... his other leg was bent all wrong.

But as someone sat him down on a bench, he didn't pass out, he just sat there shaking more roughly than either America or England.

Suddenly, the Brit sopke. "You can too drive on the bloody left side."

The smile he got in response was shaken.

Someone came up to their car and asked if they were okay, if anything was wrong.

They simotaneously answered no.

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A/N: ...huh. This didn't turn out like I expected, but hey! It's a chapter, and darn well too.

Anyways, I'm only a little sorry. Inspiration struck me in the mid-end, and instead of having America nearly crash, he ends up saving them from getting crashed into. And as to why the speeder isn't dead, the end of the street was still one light to the left of the pair's car, so when he realized he could crash, the speeder tried to stop and managed to stay alive.

If you couldn't guess he's a foreigner.

Suggestions, prompts and new headcanons are welcome :)


	5. Chapter 5

Hopeless- Romano

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A/N: Why hello there. Aren't you looking lovely. *I'm in a bad mood while I'm writing this. Meh.*

Little rant: Selling flipping ads is IMPOSSIBLE. Either the director of marketing is gone, works at another branch and only works one day of the week, or is in a meeting and can't come to the phone. (GODDAMN YOU PEOPLE. I'M TRYING TO SELL ADS FOR MY FRICKING HIGH SCHOOL YEARBOOK. HELP ME YOU SONAVABEYTCHES.)

...yeah I'm still angry.

Anyways, newest chapter! Wheedle! This one's a Romano chapter... :D

Headcanon: "Romano's a closet hopeless romantic who reads romance novels in his free time."

(I've got something planned for this :D)

Enjoy.

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 _'She pulled him down to her level and kissed him straight on.'_

 _'He took her hand and pulled her closer, wanting the comfort he got from being around her.'_

 _'She slowly stepped in time with the beat, not wanting to be anywhere else than right there, at that moment.'_

 _'"I love you," he whispered softly, brushing his fingers through her hair gently.'_

Face red, Romano stuffed the books back under his pillow, trying to stop thinking about every last line that came from those books.

Of course, with Spain as his housekeeper and North for a brother, Romano would never live it down if anyone discovered the books under his pillow, and worse- the journals under his mattress. Stuffed out of sight, filled to the brim with figments of his imagination, and not to mention possible love notes to some imaginary girlfriend, he swore to himself that if they were found he was going underground and living in a bunker somewhere for the next milennia or so until they forgot about it, maybe. Even though that likely wouldn't happen.

Still blushing, he rolled to his back and rubbed his face, murmuring lowly, "Damn genetics." Because noone had to ask to know that North flirted as much if not more than Grandpa Rome had, and when Romano came off as harsh, rude and reclusive, it shocked them a little. But what with internal fears of, "What if I'm called stupid just like my kid brother?" "What if the girl rejects me first time out?" "What if she just asks me out to make a fool out of me?"

So, books and imagination was the way to go.

Secretly, Romano was a little envious of his brother. No matter how many women slapped him on the face, pushed him down and rejected him, North kept going without much care, bravely knowing- and constantly daring- that the woman for him would stay, and wouldn't go away after just one date. She'd actually want the relationship, no matter how long it took to get there.

But Romano just couldn't see himself being able to stomach that much heartbreak, over and over again, time and time again only to find himself alone.

And, what was more, his brother took the date as time to know- was this the woman he'd want to make a commitment with? Despite everything, if he decided that no he didn't want her, he'd make sure she didn't like him, and turn her down before she even had a chance to dump _him_.

And Romano really couldn't picture himself doing that.

Shutting his eyes with a shuddery sigh, Romano turned to his stomach and thought about, again, the 'what ifs' that could one day come. What if he actually got the girl? What if he actually managed to successfully get her on a date? What would he do then?

He replied to himself seamlessly. He'd drive right up to her house, smiling, and open the door for her like a gentleman, with some flowers and he wouldn't wear 'casual' clothes- but not a tux and black tie. Just something sophisticated enough to say she was important. Then he'd drive her to a nice resturant, open the door again and go to their already reserved table. And after they were done eating, he'd drive her to a scenic view he'd found years ago, and watch with her as the sun dipped beneath the horizon. Then he'd take her home and eventually, in the morning, call her, check up on her, and maybe set up another date- if he didn't ask the previous night.

He snapped out of his thoughts slowly, smiling lightly and a light blush still dappling his cheeks enough to be visible. But when he realized it, he frowned and the blush faded.

Slowly he turned back to the ceiling and wished that maybe one day his fantasies could, perchance, come true.

Growling at himself and allowing the blush to spread back across his face, Romano took a book from under his pillow and pulled it back open, immersing himself yet again in something he knew would likely never happen to him.

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A/N: A little short, I know. But I didn't really think of much. I wanted to get this out, though, because damn the thought. IF ONLY _ALL_ MEN WERE LIKE THIS. DAMN SON, WHERE ARE YOU. ABOUT A HUNDRED THOUSAND FANGIRLS ARE ALL READY TO BE YOUR FLIPPING GIRLFRIEND. WE CAN COMMIT. COME PICK ONE OF US _UP_.

Seriously, though, this is my ideal boyfriend #1. If, that is, I decide that in my bisexuality that a guy is the way to go. Right now I'm more lesbian but wtf that has nothing to do with anything. Like how the Bronx and My Little Pony have nothing to do with each other. (I think. But some part of me is suspicious that the Bronx came up with the term 'Bronies'. Just saying.)

By the way guys, I'm half asleep while writing this. Probably be fully out in an hour tops. Meow.

 _Wheedle_...

Please review, I get lonely down here :c

Leave a prompt, headcanon, etc. I'd love it :)


	6. Chapter 6

Personality Complex- Romano and Italy

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A/N:... I couldn't resist this one. Please hate me.

Headcanon: "When the two Italies get their hair curls entangled, they switch personalities. And all hell breaks loose."

I chose to intrepret it a bit differently (and change some stuff) but still. COULD NOT RESIST.

...kill me now.

Enjoy.

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Both were sleeping on the same couch, a catnap, but still next to each other.

One of Italy's arms was slung over Romano, and Romano's head was on Italy's left shoulder. Both were deeply out, and the only witness to the situation was Sealand.

Who was grinning maniacially.

Slowly but surely, he crept over to the couch. Silently he did the one thing he'd always wanted to do but was never allowed to do when they were awake-

Pet their curls.

Both were soft, springy, and long at the moment. And for a while all the smallest did was make the two sprigs of hair bob innocently up and down, and eventually he risked picking North Italy's up.

He was met with a hum, and the Italian turned over, so his curl was now in Romano's face- and, awkwardly enough, he was in a position where he was technically on his knees, facing Sealand.

The boy waited for a moment before releasing a small breath. Then, wincing and ducking so he was hidden by the couch, he lifted Romano's.

The response he got was... unexpected, to say the least.

The second Italian laughed, a high-pitched, almost drunken sounding laugh, and he too turned over, his curl nearly touching North's.

An idea popped into the smallest's head so fast, he didn't even think about consequences.

Smiling a little, he twirled the two curls together and finally set them back down.

Then they both stirred.

Jumping and running as fast as his feet could carry him, Sealand ran from the room in a half second.

Both Italies were missing.

Grumbling, Germany agreed- along with Spain and Prussia- to find the two so they could start the meeting. It wasn't like they were needed, but immediately after the meeting planes would be leaving- and the pilots wouldn't wait around. So postponing the meeting would work.

Hopefully.

Germany had found nothing in the left wing of the building that made up France's place, Prussia was making no progress in the middle, and Spain only had one room left to check.

Humming a little to himself, he opened the door.

He blinked twice then wondered whether or not to just back out, shut it, and go.

Because Romano was hanging onto Italy like a lost puppy, and Italy was clearly trying to roughly shake his brother off.

...In other words, exactly what he was expecting and at the same time nothing that he expected.

He sighed once and backed out.

Call for Germany, let him deal with Italy, and then when Romano was alone Spain would pick him up and figure out what was wrong.

"I hate you."

"This wasn't-a my fault!" Romano's voice was higher than usual, just a little.

"Sure it is." Italy's, at the same time, was slightly deeper.

"I swear, I didn't-a do anything! I don't-a even know _how_ -a this could-a have happened!"

"It's all your fault."

"Don't say thaat~!" Whimpering, 'Romano' ran up to his brother, and clung to his shirt. "I don't-a even know! Please~..."

"Just shut up and get off me!" Forcefully the one shoved the other to the floor, but the second got up quickly.

"What-a even happened again?"

"Argh... well, from what I can _tell_ ," the first emphasized, glaring, "Is that somehow, either someone dyed our hair in two hours, or somehow... I _hate_ you for this, is..."

"What~? Say it-a, say it~!" Moaning and again clinging to his brother's shirt, the second pulled and tugged, pouting.

"Mmm... you already know!" Scowling again, the first shoved the second again, who cried out 'Ouch!' and didn't get up, but said quietly-

"Made us-a switch minds?"

"..."

"Or something like it, maybe this is-a just a dream?"

"I hope so. I don't want to be stuck in your body for longer than I have to be." Still glowering, Romano walked over to the couch and fell onto it, stuffing a pillow on top of his face.

"That's-a not nice! If you can't-a say anything nice, don't-"

"I'll say what I want to when I want to, you idiot!" After that Romano sunk back into the couch, and Italy bit his lip and began pacing behind him.

"I hate you for this," he muttered.

Just then, the door opened and both froze.

In the five seconds it took for Spain to retrieve the other two, the scene had changed a little.

Now, Italy was sitting on the couch with a pillow on his face, mumbling something as Romano paced- something his brother normally did. And Romano was biting his lip, another North trait.

But when both of their 'caretakers' walked in, both sat up straight. Imediately 'Italy' looked right at Spain, and 'Romano''s eyes flicked to Germany.

And at the same time, both began shouting and whining.

'Italy' jumped off the couch and stood next to his brother, shouting to Spain about how he was an idiot and it was his fault and how everything happened wrong _ever_ because of him-

'Romano' began complaining to Germany about how it was most certainly _not_ his fault, and his brother was being mean and rude and-

It quickly escalated into a fight between the two, though one was clearly on straight defense.

"It wasn't-a my fault!"

"Yes, it _was_!"

"No it wasn't!"

"Of couse not."

"Brother, stop-a being so mean!"

"I'm just stating the truth! Everything happens because of _you_! I mean, I'm sure even-"

"You don't have to be-a so rude when you-a say it though!"

"Sure I do! I can do anything I want!"

"It's not-a my fault!"

"Then how else did we suddenly 'switch bodies' or whatever the hell it is that happened? You tell me, huh?"

Silence fell.

Romano, with Italy's face, suddenly turned red as he realized he'd let it slip.

Italy, with Romano's face, suddenly looked at his brother with wide eyes.

Then, Spain stepped fowards.

"So... keep going," he directed to both of them. Romano stepped back, face getting even deeper.

"N-no! I don't wanna!"

Italy sighed, and said quietly, "I think he does-a know and he just doesn't-a want to say it."

"I do _not_!"

"See? He is-a impossible." Spain smiled.

"I know, because I helped raise him. Romano, get over here and apologize."

Romano refused to come from the couch now, all the pillows over his head. A muffled "No!" was all they could get.

"The meeting is starting in three whether or not they're there," Germany said quietly. Romano groaned from the pillows, but the sound was muted.

It took America, Canada, and France along with the other three to drag Romano into the meeting room. No matter what Spain did, he refused to calm. Italy, on the other hand, hung close to Germany and stayed silent save for a small amount of humming that went unnoticed underneath the yells coming from his brother.

When, just in time, they managed to open the doors to the meeting, China jumped, Russia's eyes went wide, Britain blinked, and Japan stood up abruptly, heading for the phone.

After a few moments, things calmed, and Romano finally sat next to Spain and his brother, glaring at anyone who looked at him for too long.

"This has been the worst day ever."

For some reason, at this Sealand shrunk under the table. He'd forced his way in quietly, and from the looks of it something had gone wrong after he'd left the room. To him and almost everyone else it was Italy that was acting rude and touchy, and Romano that was being calm and passive next to Germany.

Obviously, something was wrong.

However, just after both Italy and Spain told what they knew, the room calmed into confusion rather than alarm.

Romano now refused to look at anyone, staring at the table like it had teeth.

Italy, on the other hand, was leaning on Germany, was looked unsure of what was happening.

After a while Italy said, "Well, I know that it-a wasn't-a like this before I took a nap."

Romano got redder.

"And it only happened when you woke up?"

"That's-a right."

"Mm... maybe it happened while you were asleep?"

"Probably."

Romano was now turning a nice shade of deep purple.

Sealand was suddenly realized what might of happened. It was a long shot, but maybe, if he did it...

He bit his lip. No, he didn't want an early death by Romano. He'd have to wait until they were asleep again. Sighing, he propped his head onto his arm and waited.

Italy thought. "Maybe... maybe if we-a went back-a to sleep, it would-a be back to-a normal! What do you say-a, brother- bro?" Romano had vanished somewhere under the table, and was refusing to come back up.

After finally getting them back in a room where they would be left alone, Romano and Italy wordlessly went back to the couch, sitting there, waiting to fall back asleep.

"If this doesn't work- which it won't- I'll kill you."

"No you-a wont!"

"Come on," Sealand murmured from the doorway quietly. He didn't want to be found.

"Mm... later, though, I still need rest."

"I know-a what you mean, brother. Close your eyes."

After about three more minutes, both were out cold. In moments, though, they were both frowning and muttering.

Going closer to listen, Sealand heard Romano muttering how he wasn't him and don't call him that and go away, it wasn't _his_ fault. Italy was humming a tune the younger didn't recognize.

Slowly, steadily, he noticed that their curls were facing the opposite direction. He lifted Romano's first this time.

And silently, the first turned over.

Breathing a small sigh of relief, he then turned to Italy.

Who was awake.

"Ah!" Hopping back, Sealand visibly paled several shades when the Italian didn't do anything other than stare at him.

Then, he smiled.

"So you-a know what is wrong?" Blinking, he looked up and stood clumsily, face a little red, but nodding slightly. "Can you-a fix it?" Nodding again, he fearfully looked at Romano- who was thankfully still asleep.

Italty didn't stop smiling. "If you need me to-a be asleep, then-a go ahead. I'll be there in-a moment." Shifting so he was closer to Romano, the second slowly passed out. Sealand waited with bated breath, then lifted Italy's curl.

Again, silence.

Then, swallowing thickly, he twined the two curls again and set them on the couch.

Unlike before, they both slumped into more relaxed positions, and their faces took on their noraml expressions. Romano stopped muttering, and Italy smiled, humming even in his sleep.

Not wanting to find himself killed from waiting, Sealand swiftly backed out of the room and vowed silently to himself that he would never, _ever_ do that again. Not unless something was seriously messed up.

Shuddering, he decided that for now, he could stand to be ignored by all these crazy big countries- at least until everything here cooled down.

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A/N: AHAHAHA! Done! And by gods is it big, a nice 11 KB on file and almost 1,900 words! Whoo! Huge chapter, and I'm really glad it's finished. Nice one, and pretty well put together for midnight writing.

Love this :)

Send in prompts and suggestions, headcanons are also welcome :)


	7. Chapter 7

Meltdown, Ukraine and Russia

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A/N: Hello... *ahem* This wasn't late at all~, really, I totally updated this story on Wednesday, what do you mean I was late? *nervous laughter* I surely didn't spend a whole day trying to come up with a single paragraph, don't lie to meee~... *coughcough _liar_ coughcough*

Amelie, hope you enjoy :) Thank you for both giving me my first review _and_ prompt! More cookies because I'm tired (::) (::) (::) (::) (::)

:)

Man, the things I will do for my readers. Spent hours researching this, and damn I am done. I even wrote an essay for this so I could summarize it better than Wikipedia could. Damn. Really big topic. *promptly collapses* And if any of you actually read the A/N's, then I have a question- Who's your favorite country in terms of _politics_? Let's see who answers that. The air, probably, and maybe Miku. Or Luka, I'm not sure who has the computer today. (random reference)

Prompt/Headcanon (Still debating, but probably canon because I'm evil) "The Chernobyl Disaster, a nuclear meltdown in Ukraine, occured whilst the country was part of the Soviet Union. Ukraine was devastated by the meltdown, and she wanted to tell Europe to make sure noting bad happened, but Russia wouldn't let her. She fought, she really did, but Russia couldn't let the poor state of his government slip. So he did what he had to do to keep that silence. There's a reason his pipe is always bloody. The blood of strangers washes off, but the blood of your family, the people you love? That never goes away. That's also one of the reasons she's so scared of him, even today. Even after all those apologies, after the physical scars have healed, the raw emotion, the betrayal of it still stings. That's why she can't look at him without crying."

Prompt: "Can you have it where the other nations find out about what Russia did to her?"

Sure thing :D This might be long, so sit back and relax. Kick your feet up a little. I hope.

Enjoy.

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He couldn't look at his sister with the emotionless, passive, uncaring mask he wore in front of everyone else.

His crying, shaking, shuddering big sister who was huddled in a tight ball on the floor, virtually silent and for once being normal.

But if being normal meant his big sister had to be broken to this point, then Russia decided to himself right then that she could be as weird as she wanted. Even Belarus could be her own brand of weird. If it meant he didn't have to see this again.

His sister never cried like this.

Ukraine could pull tears to her eyes and occasionally drop a few. Maybe look sad and that was it.

But never would she fall to her knees, eyes staring into nothing, and have tears rain across her face as her eyebrows knitted themselves into knots, and she fell to her side and refused any help or company, even Russia's.

Never before had she been broken in such a way.

It hurt both him and Belarus to see her like this. Ukraine hadn't even done anything wrong, and yet again she suffered from things that happened within borders. And somehow, a large, ugly black burn that looked increasingly painful had settled onto their big sister's shoulder, and every time either of them asked if she was okay she shrugged it off and locked herself in her room for the rest of the night doing God knew what.

But then there was the injury Belarus hadn't seen, the one that Russia alone had.

The one that spanned most of her back and made her look like there was wings underneath her skin, ready to spring out, wings of red and black and mottled purple and green.

Wings Russia had given her.

"They need to know," she whispered brokenly from one side of the table, still crying but staring into nothing again. "Noone else should feel like this. And if we don't hurry it could happen to them too."

He had allowed almost everything else. Every other suggestion went. But this one... meant admitting weakness. Saying that the Soviet Union was fallen and therefore was weak.

And yet.

The stories he'd heard of her people, two dead immediately and twenty eight others left to die slowly of radiation poisoning. And there was an abundance of cancer now. Of course Ukraine herself wouldn't be terminally struck but the chance of her having to go through with the pain of her bones shattering, her very mind being broken by a tumor only to have it healed and possibly face the same torment over and over.

And even as he thought about it, he knew exactly what she wanted to do- protect everyone else from the same type of thing. Because while the Cold War had struck them all hard, it caused a reaction of such proportion, that it was currently classified as the world's worst nuclear backfire, a Level 7- the first one to reach the maximum level under the International Nuclear Event Scale. The casualties and current costs were already high, for such a thing- and if it got any worse, they very well could need help soon. Very soon.

Taking a shallow breath, the matter churned a little more. Not only was Ukraine hurt, but both Russia and Belarus had been sickly for weeks due to exposure. Of course it wouldn't kill them, but still. Belarus was hit harder than Russia, though, due to location.

Gritting his teeth, he muttered simply, "But we don't need the help. And I'm sure they already know."

"They don't! They don't! They have no idea and I keep thinking that if anything happens it'll be my fault because look at how this started... with me! I was the center of this, it's their right to know, and I-"

"Don't." She stopped, the crystalline drops halting on her face. Standing across from her now, Russia felt something familiar take over. A feeling he couldn't remove, the feeling part of him feared and wished dead.

The feeling of uncaring, blank, emotionless logic that had been born of pride and would do whatever it could to protect its creator.

Something in the back of his mind told him he didn't want to do that, no, that wasn't necessary, please sit back down, what are you doing just _sit back down_ -

She shook.

"But they need-"

"They need nothing. If they are hurt it won't be your fault. Unless you hurt them yourself."

"Brother, I really-"

"There is no need." The iciness entered his voice, slipping in so seamlessly Ukraine didn't even notice.

"But-"

"Go to your room for tonight, big sister. You don't need to do anything."

She finally noticed the change. "Russia, please, this isn't you. Just let me-"

" _No._ " She shook a little more, biting her lip to hold her whimpering back. His tone went from ice to underwater depths that seemed even colder and harsher than the ice.

"...I'm doing it no matter what you say."

"I will have to stop you if you don't stop yourself. Now, where were you going again? Your room?"

"No. I've got to tell the rest of them."

He barricaded her way out of the meeting room. "You won't, because you won't want to."

"...Brother?"

She noticed the glint of something in his hand. She shuddered and her fingernails digged into her palms.

"You will not tell them simply because you will not want to, right?" He stepped closer.

"Brother, please, listen to me, you're not you, just put it away and I'll- go to bed like you said-"

"I know you won't, unless I convince you otherwise." The humanity left inside him was screaming now, trying to come back, wishing he could stop. But the cold didn't care. It was like trying to stop the tide with your bare hands.

"Brother..."

She screamed as the pipe arced and came down with a sickening thud. The scream cut off, but changed to whimpers. He tossed her over, across the room and away for the door and raised it again.

"No- please, broth-" Her screams got louder each time, mixed with sobbing and yelps of pain.

Sometime later she had stopped shaking, stopped screaming for him to stop, and she was just crying silently as the pain echoed. She didn't even feel her back anymore.

Then he stopped for a split second. She whispered, "...please."

And just like that the cold vanished.

Russia was sent stumbling back as what he'd done clicked into place. What he had not prevented, what now stained his pipe.

He dropped it, scrambling back until he hit a wall.

Ukraine didn't notice and murmured, "I swear I won't tell anyone," in such a broken voice is seemed like glass lodging itself in every inch of Russia it could. His breathing quickened, and his eyes widened.

He grappled for the doorknob, twisted it, and ran as fast as he could for the exit from the house.

Every time she saw him, she cried and ran. Always saying, "My boss doesn't want me to talk to you anymore!" In public.

But in private...

She never even looked him in the eye. And her tears were silent, and her expression even more so.

And every time it was like the cold within laughed, driving a sharp blade through his chest, and then making the pain last physically, reminding him of what he'd done and why he could never get his pipe clean.

But whenever anyone asked why she ran, he felt a different type of cold take over. Fear, spreading through his veins like poison, trickling to his limbs, making them stop, and moving his shoulders in a shrug. Hasty, jerky, and uncontrollable.

But when the question dropped the fear vanished.

He knew he didn't want to admit what he'd done. Even after all that he didn't tell her she could alert anyone else- he just stayed in his room, telling Belarus he was feeling sick still, that was all.

It was true he felt sick.

Every night he could see that scene playing out in his nightmares, making it so sharp in detail he could swear it was happening all over again. But each time, in these nightmares...

He shook his head and tried to concentrate on his surroundings. It was a World meeting, so everyone was there. Even Sealand, although he wasn't around for the moment. A blessing to everyone.

So now, with his hands fiddling under his coat with his pipe, Russia wished the meeting would end already. It'd been next to him today that the little brat decided to sit when he'd first arrived, and Belarus had nearly swiped him down for it, but decided she wasn't in the mood and instead took the seat to Russia's left, shoving down someone rather roughly. That someone ran quickly, because they obviously knew what she was capable of.

Huffing as Belarus sat down, Russia braced himself for impact- but it didn't come.

She was staring at Ukraine, who was smiling as she talked to Liechtenstien. It would ordinarily be considered allying up, but in this case it wasn't. The two had been friends for a while, and since neither ever asked anything of the other, it was just a relationship for pleasure of talk, not recievement or giving, just the pleasure of talk. Soon some of the other women began to crowd, talking because for some reason noone could find the Italy brothers. So meeting postponed.

"We could give you a new dress!"

"I know the one will fit, I just got it-"

"Do you want to?"

"Oh, alright, for a moment." Ukraine smiled, and for some reason Russia felt this couldn't end well.

"Here, try this." Over the screen that Ukraine was behind, someone draped a glorious periwinkle blue dress, that fell pretty far and allowed ample room for even Ukraine's bust. It went on easily, and it was spaghetti strapped in the back. A little like a mermaid dress, a light spread of glitter in a darker blue coated a little of the bottom of the dress, going up a little to curve to her sides.

The only problem was the back.

Wide open, in the mirror Ukraine could clearly see what remained of so many years ago, and winced. Sure, the dress looked pretty, but there was no way she could wear it without a jacket.

And she wasn't sure she wanted to even wear a jacket with it.

So, she turned back around and dug through the small pile of dresses that were already tested for her clothes.

"U-ukarine?" She froze. Someone behind her was now there.

And could see her back clearly.

The first thing that happened was Liechtenstien.

She was yelling right into Russia's face, and Switzerland had to drag her off of him. Then she started yelling in her native language and suddenly Switzerland paused. Everyone else just stood there confused, until Hungary- who had been there to help clean after they were done- came out with a shaking Ukraine.

She was walking right to Russia.

He didn't have to even see the back of the dress to know what was wrong.

He stood abruptly.

She stared into him, eyebrows drawn.

Then she shook her head, eyes shut.

Before anyone could speak, Russia was gone.

Silence.

Then- "What happened?"

"He... I didn't think he could- or would- even- you're joking, right?" Everyone blinked. America was standing, staring at Liechtenstien like she had just claimed to have murdered someone. "I mean-"

She bit her lip, then slowly shook her head.

Pale, almost as much as Switzerland was, America sunk into his seat, eyes wide.

"What? What am I missing?"

Noone but the ignorant could meet his eye.

Until Hungary murmured, "Her back."

Murmuring. Some stood. Ukraine seemed to be dissolving into Hungary, face red.

Someone else saw her back and gasped.

Then the rest did and disbelief came.

The ripples of scars, shaped like feathers, were now nearly pure white- but that wasn't the problem. It was the fact that they were so thick, so raised from her skin, and so _large_ in size-

Someone shoved Sealand outside before he saw.

It didn't matter.

"He- you mean... Russia?"

The tension thickened.

Finally, Ukraine couldn't take it. She began to cry silently, gripping onto Hungary until Belarus finally came over, taking her big sister into her arms and murmuring in their native language, trying to process what her big brother truly did.

"I'll take her home, and then-"

"I know what you're thinking. No, just leave him alone. He did this- anything that happens to him is his fault."

Running.

At some point he pulled the shotgun in his coat into his hand, no care for the now screaming pedestrians.

He just had to reach the border.

Wishing that he could have had control over that small insecurity.

He was running faster than he usually did.

Which was not at all.

But even by human standards, even by country standards, he was fast. Freakishly fast.

He was grateful for it now.

Sprinting through roads, in front of cars, over and under things- he didn't care what it was.

If he could die right then, that'd be wonderful.

And that thought prompted him to do something he'd never dared do, in case Ukraine or Belarus was nearby. But he didn't have to worry now- they were probably hating him somewhere.

And they'd see his death as regret.

Hopefully.

...1000th time lucky?

He stopped right in the middle of the lane, inches away from an 18-wheeler.

He realized that at some point he made across a border of some sort.

He shut his eyes.

And slowly, painfully, bit by bit every part of Russia's body felt the pain of being hit for the first time.

And suddenly he wasnted to just use his gun.

A silent scream began clawing at his throat.

It seemed so slow.

The gun was so much faster.

With what energy he could muster, he pulled the barrel to his head.

And shot.

She hadn't let go of Ukraine for an hour now.

After being escorted to the border by France and Hungary, they'd walked back home because the plane had decided to leave. Early.

Then, Ukraine changed into some pajamas, and put her coat next to her. Belarus put it on the coat rack.

Now, on the carpet of Belarus' medium sized house/mansion, in the TV room, the news played while the two not watching sat on the floor in front of the chair.

Suddenly, Ukraine stopped sobbing and her head lifted. She stared at the television.

Bearus glanced, seeing a load of blood, a truck and a reporter.

Another accident.

Sighing, Belarus began to pull Ukraine up. "Alright, sister. You need sleep. I'm tired and I know you are too."

But Ukraine was still staring at the television, whimpering. She didn't seem to want to speak. Her hand pointed.

"What, the news? I know. It's bad. But there's nothing we can do."

Ukraine whimpered again, fighting Belarus' shove to the guest rooms.

"I'll turn it off, okay? Just go to your room for a moment."

Ukraine stopped, lips quivering. Belarus sighed and went to grab the remote.

Then Ukraine finally whispered- "Brother."

Belarus stopped.

Because just as Ukraine said that, the television showed a shot of the bloody figure a little closer.

The white hair was unmistakable.

Not to mention the coat.

Someone was saying that the victim had just run into traffic, pulled a gun to his head, and got run over-

Belarus had her coat back on. Waiting only long enough to hear the address of the scene, she tossed Ukraine's coat back to her and muttered, "Come on," with the door already open.

White.

Red.

Grey.

...

1000th time not lucky, then.

A small laugh gurgled in his throat. The blood bubbled, and someone shouted.

Some tears began to wash away the blood.

Shaking violently, crying, Russia lay in the center of the street, wishing that maybe one day he'd get lucky.

"Brother!"

Oh, here comes the punishment for having the inability to die. Belarus, probably wishing he had died.

He laughed a little higher in pitch.

"Ukraine, get the phone."

Oh, Ukraine too? Was she finally going to hit him back?

Maybe if she did... he would really die?

He gurgled more.

Everything slowly faded.

lllllllllllllllllllllll

A/N: And by the way, the scene with him in chapter 2 comes right after that big 'Ukraine beatdown'. I didn't even realize it, but that fits perfectly. :) He didn't use his pipe because it felt too guilty, and he was laughing and s**t because he felt so awful for it he just wanted to die and not feel the guilt.

Yeah I feel sick right now, throat is sore and I'm tired. Damn.

...Somehow this morphed. I don't know, don't ask. Meh.

And I am now going to play Project DIva for the rest of the night. I just got it in the mail and AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA *Excessive fangirling*

~\ .3. /~ *flag waving*

And in here, Ukraine's boss doesn't know- or Russia's boss, for that matter- what happened and probably never will. :3 Just one of those things.

And in my world, it does occasionally happen that people will find the countries and attempt to kill them (But obviously that doesn't work.)

Hope you liked, **Amelie**. :)


End file.
